


constant state of indiana

by yikestozier



Series: in the bittersweet people tend to only remember the bitter [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Bad Parenting, Blood, Don't Read This, Drabble, Gross, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Nail Biting, Out of Character, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, can you tell my niche is gross nail biting, i just picked a person i find comfort in to get this out haha, i think, idk how to put it - Freeform, literally wilburs name is mentioned like 5 times and thats it, the rest are just pronouns, theres some references to adults being gross to a child??, this is hardly a "fanfic", very specific vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:27:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27173093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yikestozier/pseuds/yikestozier
Summary: Wilbur had always been weirdly obsessed with his own hands. How long his fingers were, how they crooked when he limped them, how flat his palms were, the edges on his thumb, how pale they were. Obsessed with how they looked coated in blood.He was 4 years old when he started biting his nails and, coincidently, when he met the worst person he'd ever meet.
Series: in the bittersweet people tend to only remember the bitter [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984351
Kudos: 16





	constant state of indiana

**Author's Note:**

> just a VERY specific vent fic at 2 am (if you know and notice its me, shut up), dont read this its not well done and its gross and honestly i dont know why im posting it, let alone posting it to my main A03

Wilbur had always been weirdly obsessed with his own hands. How long his fingers were, how they crooked when he limped them, how flat his palms were, the edges on his thumb, how pale they were. Obsessed with how they looked coated in blood.

He was 4 years old when he started biting his nails and, coincidently, when he met the worst person he'd ever meet. 

He was young then, young enough to still run around his grandmother's apartment in just his underwear, not knowing it wasn't okay when guests were over. His mom was too poor since his dad walked out, so staying with his granny was how it was supposed to be, and things were fine for a bit; they thought it was cute, so they let him keep doing it. Then _he_ came in.

At first, _he_ was okay too. He played with Wilbur when he asked, would watch _Spirit_ with him over and over again, no matter how many times he watched it, and he was okay. His mom seemed happy for a moment. It was okay despite the fact that Wilbur never got why he couldn't hang around his own house in just his underwear anymore. He still doesn't get it. He was supposed to be a father if he was committed to his mother, so it shouldn't have mattered. It doesn't hit why it does until he's 17. He instantly tries to forget it. 

He never can.

 _He_ always bit his nails, and Wilbur didn't know it was a nasty habit yet, and so he did it too. It was fine at first. 

By the age of 15, he couldn't keep his fingers out of his mouth, and if it wasn't his fingers, it was his lips. Blood was almost always filling his mouth and his fingertips almost always hurt. He thought about stopping so many times but always came to the same conclusion. _He didn't want to._

He liked the pain as he tore into the flesh around his nails, liked as blood pooled around his cuticles, like the satisfying feeling of _peeling_ back his nail. He likes how his fingertips are always too pink, the blood always rushing to them. 

It was never enough. Never enough to cause permanent damage. He could stop if he wanted. But he knows he won't; probably never will.

He then began to hyper-focus on how much he did it. Originally, he’d just suddenly find himself chewing on a nail, but soon he realized he'd bite them nearly 24/7. Biting them when his parents were fighting. Biting them through school. Biting them at night, never sleeping. Blood smearing his lips as he bit them day after day. He quickly grew tired of putting bandaids on the wounds. He went through too many. 

He looked at them often, always noting how his pinky finger went out too far. 

It hurt. But it couldn't hurt more than what he was going through. He thinks maybe that's why he doesn't want to stop. He doesn't know if he'll ever truly know. 

It quickly became worse. It became deliberate. It didn't matter if it was just a habit anymore, it almost became a way of self harm. He wasn't suicidal, at least he didn't _think_ he was, but whenever it was late at night or he was bored, he'd find himself taking nail clippers to his skin and nails, cutting them just too short to where it caused pain and scraping back layers of skin until they caused blood.

One of his favorite things was taking his teeth to peel back layers of his nail. Everyone always found it gross when he said it and it was better than scraping holes into them. He likes when he'd accidentally bite off the stipe too early and the nub of it in his cuticle was too short he has to dig into it to pinch it with his teeth once more. When he finally grabs it and pulls it out it always causes the most pain and blood. 

He used to bite on the inside of his thumbs - originally doing it to try and stop, but doesn’t as frequently. More difficult and less satisfying. 

He'd be lying if he didn't say he didn't like people's disgusted looks at his fingers at their worst. Took pride in it almost. Maybe that's why he doesn't want to stop. Maybe. Or it could just be the aesthetic, he doesn't know.

He does know he wants to at some point, however. Maybe. He doesn't like the thought of _him_ in the back of his mind every time he noticed himself going particularly hard on them. It's his fault - his fault that he's like this - he thinks one night as he bites so hard into his cuticle of his index finger, pulling back. Blood quickly follows. It always does. 

He doesn't sleep that night, as he doesn’t most nights. But he does come to the conclusions that, despite everything, he does like his hands. Imperfections included. Perhaps that's why. He just hopes he can find someone to like them just as much as he does.

He finally drifts to sleep as the sun comes up.


End file.
